


A lesson in cunt.

by skinnylittlered



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Childhood Friends, Erotica, F/M, Feminist Themes, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Late Night Conversations, Male-Female Friendship, One Night Stands, Parody, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnylittlered/pseuds/skinnylittlered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom fucks a feminazi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A lesson in cunt.

“ _Excuse me_?”

It was one of those times when he unequivocally knew that he had somehow, somewhere along the way done something – Jove knew what exactly, but, judging by the wired-up-for-all-the-wrong-reasons-woman-sitting-on-his-lap’s reaction, he was sure he’d be structurally presented his transgression soon enough – unforgivably indiscreet, something that must have had aroused his current partner’s moral sensibilities in such a way that cued the instantaneous halt in her very pleasurable doings, unless he came with a viable, heartfelt apology and analytical argumentation of the exact interconnection of logical thoughts that led to his committing of such a violation of ethics still unbeknownst to him.

_Fast, Hiddleston, think!_

But however speedily Tom Hiddleston’s mind processed the past ninety minutes – and let it be known that when a man has as main impetus for utilising the head on his shoulders in the service of the one below his belt, the momentum of any action purposed to aiding to his cause reaches parameters of astonishing intensity – he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what it was that comprised the crime which he seemed to be accused of, accusation which he, although aware that he shouldn’t, he felt strongly about contesting as the circumstances were clearly unfavourable to any other synergic exercise but the one at hand, for, you see, the man was balls deep into the big-breasted blonde on top of him, and it is a matter of widespread knowledge that those of the stronger sex can hardly make use of both of their aforementioned heads at the same time, and, if so, by herculean effort. Yet another piece of input that ought to grant his exculpability was constituted by the decisive absence of any functional sobriety in his person at the very moment when the woman and her exquisitely tight ass presented themselves to him; surely he, thus, could not be held liable for any misdemeanour other than his self-induced clouding of the senses – any foolishness of character in the framework of his inebriation should have been considered subsequent to his incipient misjudgement and dismissed accordingly.

Which, in real life, was just never going to happen.

Reduced to affirming into his dubious stream of consciousness that his getting laid had already been laid to rest, Tom tried not to cringe as his John Thomas pulsed what threatened to be its last erectile seconds, the female on top of him, despite not having disimpaled herself from his reproductive organ, appeared to have no intention of resuming copulation.

Truth be told, it wasn’t the _coitus interruptus_ that had got him in such a state of memorative palsy, nor was it the alcohol – although, if push came to shovel, it would be the first excuse to be utilised – but the sense of I’m-about-to-fuck-you-up-in-the-worst-way-possible he was getting from the curvaceous blonde who looked alarmingly close to atomically eradicating him for a reason which he was still a stranger of. Until the yelling started, that is.

“How _dare_ you talk in this belittling way about the temple of human life?”

And with those words, for a minute during which he was sure the world had stopped but she was yet to be halted from going on an eulogising rampage about her nether bits, Tom Hiddleston finally broke through the tormenting haze that he generally regards absence of sufficient knowledge to save one’s ass to be, assuming the glorious relief of acceptance and the clear-headedness that came with it, a lyrical lightness of his quintessential being.

An easy smile of complete understanding bloomed on his face once the universe, set back into its rotative motion, came into focus, and the woman, too busy with fervently reciting a heartfelt adulation entirely centred on her womanhood – something or another about her vagina being a flower or some shit – to perceive the shift in his previously strained mannerisms, suddenly became so plainly beautiful in her simplistic understanding of the world and dogmatic platitudes, any remnant desirability in her sphere of existence dissipated, and Tom no longer grieved the end of their primal union.

It was then that he gripped her thighs with gentle force and lifted her off him, caressing her matte cheek when she questioningly looked into his eyes, not ceasing her rambling of a comprehensive female reproductive system description.

He was dressed and out the door in less than five minutes.

 

***

 

If there was one thing that Addison, as chief best friend of a mostly travelling, world-class celebrity, could count on was receiving phone calls from her very important _bel ami_ at any hour of the day or night and usually for the most idiotic reasons. She blamed it on the fact that, so used to his unusual lifestyle, he forgot people had real, actual nine-to-five jobs, regardless of how many times, at countless ungodly three in the mornings she reminded him. It appeared Tom’s life was just too hectic for him be bothered with retaining such trivialities as the plebeians’ schedules. Well, at least, to the successful actor’s utmost despair, that was the method of teasing Addison, the very boring accountant, preferred – and a rightful liberty nevertheless, considering the numerous overnighters she pulled out of infinite love for the charming bastard who, to his credit, did not have malicious intent, but was simply a helpless idiot who could never figure out time zones, and flat out refused to, as she’d suggested, “ _[You’re filthy rich, Hiddleston, just fucking] hire someone to do it for you_ ”, arguing something along the lines of being wealthy doesn’t mean he must also be wasteful, and that there are areas in Africa without running water, which, in all fairness, Addison completely agreed with, and supported about as much as she supported the imperious need of a healthy sleep regimen.

That morning the telephone went off at a few minutes past six, and that would’ve come quite handy if it weren’t Saturday, but, seeing as it indubitably was, instead of thankful, she only felt rather pissed off, but picked up anyway because, with that arsehole, one could just _never fucking know._ Unsure whether the device was correctly wedged between her, painfully enough, eye and the pillow, she groaned an otherwise dismissive greeting into what she dearly hoped to be the right end of the phone, as she wasn’t entirely sure she had any amount of energy left that would suffice for the effort of moving her superior right limb for the second time in such a short time. When she vaguely discerned the familiar cheerfulness of her pal was emitted from an area in the approximate vicinity of her ear, she declared the first small victory in a series of many more to come that day, getting out of bed being the following one of the assortment.

“So this chick was riding me and she got terribly upset at my using the phrase, and I quote, “You’ve got such a tight little cunt”, and I believe nothing in the world can even faze me anymore.”

Addison sighed deeply, thinking that, at that point, nothing could faze her anymore either.

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO THERE, READER HOW’S YOU DOIN’.
> 
> Before I smother you with virtual lovin’, there’s one major thing I feel that I need to explain.
> 
> I identify as a feminist. I am all for the equality between every (non)gender there is. I’m all for sexual freedom as long as it’s consensual. I am all for everybody doing what they may please, as long as it doesn’t hurt the people around them (unless said people around them are into that, in which case, that’s fine with me). Basically, as long as nobody suffers unwillingly, what you do is your fucking business, and I have no reason to meddle in it/judge you. I’m a firm believer in that.
> 
> But I really fail at getting feminist extremists (aka radical feminists, aka feminazies) Those man-hating girls have taken things to a whole ‘nother level of obnoxious and I’m certain it’s incurable.
> 
> This is my silly little way of taking a jab at them and if you find it offensive, well, feel free to loathe my guts, feel free to start a conversation about it, feel free to ask for further elaboration. I like to think myself a reasonably open minded individual, always ready to consider other sides of the argument, and debate on various topics and points of view. So talk to me, we’ll either reach the same conclusion or agree to disagree. 
> 
> Other than that, thank you for reading, lovelies, hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> The feedback for the period thingie I uploaded last week - thank you a bunch. It’s such a fucking great feeling to have people enjoy my work. Mindblowing. You’re amazeballs. Fucking love the shit out of you.
> 
> Thank you for reading, sugarplums, you stay golden *stuffs your face with chocolate pudding*


End file.
